Watching for the Sandman
by Sandpuppeteer
Summary: Enroute to a major mission, the Sand team stays the night at a hotel. Kankuro can't get to sleep and finds himself remembering the days of his childhood.


AN: This is dedicated to those few Kankuro fan girls out there. Especially NinjaShen and Soltian.

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He shouldn't have to put up with this. He'd tried everything, short of warm milk and cookies. He even humored the cliché of counting sheep, but that only made him feel ridiculous. This was his brother's department, not his. Even the crickets had gone to sleep, he thought. Second damn night in a row.

Kankuro lay on his bed, more awake than during training, earlier that day. He could hear Temari's gentle snores. She apparently had no trouble falling asleep. Hearing the soft breaths of sleep only made finding seep of his own more difficult, reminding him of what he couldn't attain. Soft footfalls in the hall told of Gaara's location, creating more distracting noise. A well seasoned person in the ways of insomnia, but he only knew how to stay awake. He was never much one for voluntary unconsciousness.

Fresh air, Kankuro thought. It might clear his head enough to find sleep again. The air in their temporary room pressed in on him, stuffy and artificially heated. He opened the sliding door with an unavoidable clack of wood striking wood. Careful to not disturb his sister, he slipped out onto the balcony on bare feet. The concrete felt like ice to toes that longed to be under a blanket. Ignoring the searing cold, he turned his attention to what lay beyond the balcony. The city sprawled out around him. The streets still squirmed with activity, even in the small hours of the morning. He wondered what people could find to do at such hours, having never been one to spend much time in the cities. A cool breeze brought the perfume of the nearby flowering trees. A sweet fragrance, exotic to his desert trained nose. The scent called up images of a couple he'd passed that day while on his way to the hotel. He noticed the girl's perfume, barely noticeable under the heavy scent cherry blossoms. A pleasant smell that reminded him of roses and vanilla. Her and the boy looked so content in each other. They looked the epitome of two people willing devote themselves to one another, even in a life-or-death situation.

Finding such devotion in the Sand village would be difficult, especially in the family descended from a Kazekage. A woman he held no conscious memory of died laying a curse on their household. With her last breath, she damned her newborn son to love only himself, by name alone. "The child's name...is Gaara..." a dusty, ancient memory said to him, unsure if he'd actually heard her speak those words, or if he'd just heard someone repeating them. Her curse spread through the entire family, like an incurable virus, undetected until it was far too late, brought by her biological son.

The infection manifested in him when he was still quite young. Even from the first day at the academy, he got the feeling he was not well liked. Being the son, and grandson, of leaders of the village, his name and face were known, as well as his brother's. It was that name he heard whispered when he stepped into the class room on the first day. A nervous wave among the students, perhaps worrying if he was anything like his younger sibling. In the afternoons, when the others went to play, they rarely let him join. They'd avoid him as they did with Gaara, in the typical way children do. If you hang around with someone unacceptable you become like them. Guilty by association, as the adults said.

Every day, he'd run up to a group of boys, who were kicking around a ball or playing tag in the street. "That looks like fun!" he'd ask "Can I play?"

One day, the answer changed. "Sure!" their apparent leader said, "Do you know how to play?" He rested his foot on the pale blue, dirt stained ball.

Kankuro's little heart swelled with joy. No one had ever said yes, before. The worried looks and taunting snickers of the others passed right by him, undetected in his overjoyed state. "Yeah!" he replied right away. He'd watched them pass the ball around the circle, keeping it from the one in the middle.

"You're the monkey, 'cause you're new!" he scooped up the well-played ball. On hesitant feet, the others shuffled back into some semblance of a circle at their leader's urging. Kankuro remained in the center. He looked at the boys that surrounded him with sudden sick unease, an intense anxiousness.

As the ball passed over his head, from kid to kid, Kankuro leapt up, arms stretched as far as his muscles allowed. The ball remained just a little out of reach. He laughed, his short lived anxiety slipping away. Almost! He almost had it, his finger tips barely grazed it, sending it off course to an unintended target. He laughed, his cheeks aching, but his smile would not drop. He didn't care that the ball proved to be an unattainable goal. He was playing. He was included. He was having fun.

The ball passed through the leader's hands again, barely touching his fingers before flying off to its next target. A dazed Kankuro, who had lost track of the ball, couldn't see its lowered trajectory. Bouncing off the side of his head, with a dull thwack. It pushed him off balance, sending him face first onto the ground.

"Guess I wasn't paying attention," he laughed. He pushed up to his knees, freeing his clothes of dust. A small scrape stung his elbow, but he barely noticed.

A chubby, dark haired boy picked up the ball as it rolled toward the circle's edge. Several others snickered, as he raised his arm behind him, faded ball gripped in his pudgy fingers. Kankuro pushed to his feet, ready to play once more. He'd just looked up, all smiles again when the ball drove into his unguarded stomach. With a grunt of forcefully expelled air, he tumbled back to his knees. This isn't so fun anymore, he thought, desperate to fill his lungs once more. After achieving a full breath, he tried to say "Hey! I wasn't ready." The ball struck again, rebounding off the back of his head before the words escaped his lips. The blow threw stars before his eyes, knocking him forward once more. "No fair!" he protested. He pushed back onto his knees as he rubbed the sore spot on his head. "You're using chakra!" He knew boys his age could not throw anything _that_ hard, unaided.

"What's the matter?" the leader taunted, "Can't catch a stupid little ball?" He held it out toward the fallen boy, its surface practically shimmering with energy. "It's just a ball!" With movements imitating those that might be seen on a pitcher's mound, he hurled the ball at Kankuro's dirt smudge face.

It moved too fast. His reflexes stalled, hesitating before kicking in. By then, it was too late. The ball collided with his nose, mashing against his face. The strength of the impact forced him back and off his feet. He struck the hard-packed dirt, sliding several feet before halting. He saw only clouds, or so he assumed them to be. With his vision swimming, his head hazy he wasn't certain. Several dark, blobby shapes invaded the hazy blue-gray that previously flooded his line of sight.

"What's wrong?" One of the blobs taunted. "Can't defend yourself like your little brother?"

The other shadowy shapes responded with cruel, scorning laughter.

A pain blossomed in his side, blunt and hard. A blow of a boy's sandal. Several more followed, striking his ribs, arms and legs, anywhere they could reach. They surrounded him, kicking from all sides. He curled himself into a ball, on his side, forcing his chin down. Protect what hurts most, instinct told him after a few sandals met vital areas. Some of the blows to his arms and back were suddenly sharper, harder. Someone shouted for more rocks.

A gap! One of the attackers stepped away, answering the call for more impromptu weapons. Kankuro pushed himself up, hurdling toward that small, glimmering chance of escape. He forced through the barricade, gasping like a swimmer breaking the surface. He ran, the boys' taunts chasing him. Rocks rained around him, assailed his back and the ground around him. Their shouts faded away, long after the hail of stones ceased. He could still hear their words ringing in his ears, echoing in his mind as he reached his front door. _Can't defend yourself like your little brother?_ Just the memory of the words stung more than any of the boys' attacks. Did they do it because they couldn't attack Gaara? He wondered. At that time, he denied it. He didn't want to believe his brother to be the source of his misfortune. Even so, at that time the thought bright tears to his eyes. The warm saltiness stung as it seeped over his scraped face and split lip.

He scrubbed the tears away, his sleeve coming away streaked with a mottled brown of blood and dirt. This was no place for weakness, for anyone could be on the other side of that door. He prepared himself to explain why his nose bled, or why his left eye refused to open.

His memory hazed out there. He was uncertain if someone had been inside, or if he'd made it to his room. Perhaps he collapsed there on the door step. He tried to pull the memory from the depths where it hid, but it refused to show itself. Giving up, he turned his attention back to the city, trying to count the similar encounters that followed that day. It proved an impossible task. The fights blurred into each other, making one undistinguishable from the next. He tried to pinpoint when it happened, when he gave up on denial, when he started to blame his brother for it all. Not long after it started, he decided. The other kids feared Gaara, and with Temari so much older than them, Kankuro remained the closest target on which to release their frustrations.

As he and his peers moved through the academy, they were taught new techniques and skills. He learned to defend himself properly. But he wasn't the only one to benefit. Most of the other boys picked up the offensive skills faster than he did. He stayed after class most days to practice the basics of Taijutsu. He practiced basic break-fall and release techniques while the others moved on to actually sparring with each other. His sensei thodl him he could do the moves, he just lacked the confidence to execute them.

"How can I get confidence?" he asked one day, near tears in frustration.

The instructor knelt beside him, "It's simple." He smiled. "Tell yourself that you're going to win."

"But what if I know I'll lose?"

"Then tell your opponent, 'I'm going to win.'"

Kankuro repeated the words, hesitantly.

His sensei nodded. "But sound like you mean it. It'll make your enemy think he might not be able to beat you."

"I'm going to win." A little stronger.

"Good. Again."

"I'm going to win!"

"Now you're getting it!"

Kankuro repeated the words until he was shouting and laughing. He _felt_ he could win.

He arrived home with a split lip and several bruises. He doubted his teacher's words. The copper taste in his mouth attested to his assured failure. He just wasn't strong enough, he decided. So he started training more often on his own, frequently going well past sunset in the hopes that it might build his confidence. The process was slow. He never seemed to gain anything over the others, no matter how much he pushed himself.

He looked down at his hands, resting on the chilled metal rail. His knuckles still showed faint traces of the scars he'd given himself. More often than not, back then, he punched the targets until his fingers bled. One night he couldn't walk home after practicing his kicks until the sheer repetitive impacts fractured his ankle. While practicing he imagined his brother's face on the targets. He wished that the raccoon-eyed brat would accidentally step in front him as he practiced throwing his kunai. If it weren't for Gaara and his stupid sand, Kankuro knew he could have friends. He could be normal.

He remembered one afternoon when he was seven. It was the first time he recalled feeling pity for the one he detested so much. Gaara carried a worn plush rabbit, barely fitting his thin arms around it. One of its button eyes hung to one side, the thread loose. He approached a little blonde girl and her giggling friends. "You dropped this..." he said. He cautiously extended his arms, presenting the stuffed toy to her. Its head dropped forward, as if saddened to leave the boy's grasp.

Their collective shrieks pierced the dry afternoon air. A cloud of dust rose from their pounding feet as they fled from the boy's kind gesture.

He stretched out a small hand toward them, sadness creasing his brow. "Wait! I just.." A wave of sand rose from amid the dust, recreating his motions on a large, sandy scale. It reached for the slower girl, twisting around her ankles. She fell forward, smacking her forehead on the road. Her friends ignored her frantic pleas, afraid for their own safety.

"Gaara-sama!" An adult scolded. As he planted a hand on the boy's shoulder the sand loosened and settled back to the ground. The girl scrambled up, running to her cowering friends. Under the firm tone was an audible tremor. Even someone five times his age feared the sand-protected boy. The man ordered Gaara to return home, warning him against bothering those girls again and turned from the boy. He went to check on the shaken girls. They clung to each other, sobbing and yelling for Gaara to go away.

Kankuro watched the brother he'd grown to loathe trudge up the street. He dragged the oversized rabbit by a single ear, its body erasing the foot prints Gaara left in the dust. The instincts of an older brother kicked in, considerably delayed by the shock of the situation. But it was too little too late. Gaara was too far to reach. Kankuro remained on the side of the road, watching the small figure disappear into the heat haze. Only the wide track of the towed bunny remained.

A few months after that afternoon, Yashamaru disappeared from their lives. Kankuro didn't understand their uncle's sudden vanishing act. Every time asked when the man would return or where he went his family gave the same answers. Their father would grunted, Gaara glared and Temari shushed his questions.

Even with out knowing the circumstances, Kankuro assumed his brother had been involved, because Gaara was never the same after it happened. He became distant. Angry and resentful. Kankuro wanted to ask what the new mark on his brother's forehead was. He'd never seen so much as a bruise on the boy, so this was most unsettling. Any time he tried to speak to his sibling about anything, he only received death glares and gouging insults. Even if it was just passing on a message from their father, or a simple "good morning."

"Hey. Useless lack-wit." Said an all too familiar, cutting voice. It yanked him from his thoughts, causing his hear to lurch off beat. Kankuro looked up to see the one he'd been thinking about balancing on the balcony railing. He glared at his older brother, arms folded over his chest "You're supposed to be asleep." He was not concerned. He only stated the obvious.

"I know..." he said. Collecting himself, he reached for some sort of explication.. "I'm just a little nervous. What if we don't pa--"

"We're not going for the test. We're going for a mission."

Kankuro didn't argue. He knew it would be a waste of time. Gaara would simply remind him of the consequences of getting in his way. Before Kankuro could respond anymore than an audible release of breath, a grainy haze surrounded the younger brother, with the well-known smell of sun scorched sand. When the cloud dispersed, the red haired sibling was gone.

Kankuro couldn't help but think that sad little boy with the overgrown stuffed rabbit was buried somewhere under all of that sand. The caring older brother in him vowed to protect that, even if it was just a shadow of a possibility. "Who am I kidding?" he laughed scoffed out loud. "He's an arrogant brat. That sad kid died when that stupid mark showed up." His words grew incoherent as his jaw stretched in a surprise yawn. Sleep tugged suddenly and viciously at his eye lids. He slipped back into the room, hoping he might get a few hours of sleep before Baki Sensei woke them. He wanted them up bright and early for their first trip to Konoha. With the sky hinting at dawn's imminent approach, he'd be lucky to just take the edge off his fatigue.


End file.
